The Mystery of the Ravenspurs

by Fred M. White

  CHAPTER XX

  A FASCINATING WOMAN

  Mrs. Jessop's simple parlor had been transformed beyond recognition. Thefine Chippendale furniture had been brought forward; the gaudy setteesand sofas had been covered with fine, Eastern silks and tapestries. Apair of old Dresden candlesticks stood on the table, and under pinkshades the candles cast a glamor of subdued light upon damask and silverand china.

  As Geoffrey was ushered in Mrs. May came forward. She was dressedentirely in black, her wonderfully fine arms and shoulders gleameddazzling almost as the diamonds that were as frosty stars in theglorious night of her hair. One great red bloom of some flower unknownto Geoffrey was in her breast. As to the rest, the flowers were allscarlet. The effect was slightly dazzling.

  Mrs. May came forward with a smile.

  "So you have managed to elude the Philistines," she said. "Ah, I guessedthat you would say nothing to your friends about our little dinner."

  There was an eager note in the words that conveyed a half question.Geoffrey smiled.

  "May I venture to suggest that the knowledge is not displeasing to you?"he said.

  "Well, I admit it. In the circumstances to explain would have been abore. Your people cannot call on me and, being old-fashioned, they mightnot care for you to come here alone. Therefore, being a man of theworld, you told them nothing about it."

  Geoffrey smiled, as he took the proffered cigarette. Had he not beenwarned against this woman by Ralph, her subtle flattery would have puthim off his guard. It is always so sweet and soothing for a youngster tobe taken for a man of the world.

  "You have guessed it all," he said. "My grandfather is a grand seigneur.He has no toleration for anything that is not _en r?gle_. What anexquisite cigarette!"

  Mrs. May nodded. They were excellent cigarettes, as also was the liqueurshe insisted upon pouring out for Geoffrey with her own hands. He hadnever tasted anything like it before.

  And the dinner when it came was a perfect little poem in its way. Not aflask of wine on the table that had not a history. Long before the mealwas over Geoffrey found himself forgetting his caution.

  Not that Geoffrey had anything to be afraid of. He knew that in some waythis woman was connected with the tragedy of his race; for all that heknew to the contrary, she might be the spirit directing the tragedies.

  She was his enemy, though she smiled upon him with a dazzlingfascination calculated to turn cooler heads than his. But, at any rate,she had not asked him here to poison him at her own table. Mrs. Mona Maywas too fine an artist for that.

  Presently Geoffrey came out of his dream to find himself talking. Mrs.May seemed to be putting all the questions and he was giving all theanswers. And yet, directly, she asked no questions at all. She wassympathetic and interested in the family, as she explained with kindnessand feeling.

  "And there is that poor blind gentleman," she said sweetly.

  Her eyes were bent over her dessert plate. She was peeling a peachdaintily. There was just for the fraction of a second a ring in hervoice that acted on Geoffrey as a cold douche does to a man whose sensesare blurred with liquor. Some instinct told him that they wereapproaching the crux of the interview.

  "My uncle Ralph," he said carelessly. "He is a mystery. He keepshimself to himself and says nothing to anybody. Sometimes I fancy he isa clever man, who despises us, and at other times I regard him as a manwhose misfortunes have dulled his brain and that he strives to concealthe fact."

  Mrs. May smiled. But she returned to the charge again. But strive as shewould, she could get no more on this head out of Geoffrey. She wanted toknow who the man was and all about him. And she learned nothing beyondthe fact that he was a poor nonentity, despised by his relations.Geoffrey's open sincerity puzzled her. Perhaps there was nothing tolearn after all.

  "Strange that he did not stay away," she murmured, "knowing that thefamily curse must overtake him."

  Geoffrey shrugged his shoulders carelessly.

  "What can an unfortunate like that have to live for?" he asked. "He isbroken in mind and in body and has no money of his own. It is just likethe old fox who crawls to the hole to die. And we are getting used tothe curse by this time."

  "You have no hope, no expectation of the truth coming to light?"

  It was on the tip of Geoffrey's tongue to speak freely of his hopes forthe future. Instead he bent his head over the table, saying nothing tillhe felt he had full control of his voice once more. Then he spoke in thesame hopeless tones.

  "I have become a fatalist," he said. "Please change the subject."

  Mrs. May did so discreetly and easily. And yet in a few moments thedoings of the Ravenspurs were on her tongue again and, almostunconsciously, Geoffrey found himself talking about Marion, Mrs. Maylistening quietly.

  "I have seen the young lady," she said. "She has a nice face."

  "Marion is an angel," Geoffrey cried. "Her face is perfect. You haveonly to look at her to see what she is. Nobody with a countenance likethat could do wrong, even if she wished it. No matter who and what it iseverybody comes under Marion's sway. Men, women, children, dogs, allturn to her with the same implicit confidence."

  "Marion seems to be a warm favorite," Mrs. May smiled. "And yet I rathergather that she does not hold first place in your affections?"

  "I am engaged to my cousin Vera," Geoffrey explained. "We were boy andgirl lovers before Marion came to us. Otherwise--well, we need not gointo that. But I never saw any one like Marion till to-night."

  Mrs. May looked up swiftly.

  "What do you mean by that?" she asked.

  "I mean exactly what I say. In certain ways, in certain lights, undercertain conditions your face is marvelously like that of Marion."

  As Geoffrey spoke he saw that the blood had left the cheek of hiscompanion. Her face was deadly pale, so pale that the crimson flower inher breast seemed to grow vivid. There was a motion of the elbow and awine glass went crashing to the floor. The woman stooped to raise thefragments.

  "How clumsy of me!" she said. "And why are you regarding me so intently?My heart is a little wrong, the doctors tell me--nothing serious,however. There!"

  She looked up again. She had recovered and her face was tinged with thered flush of health again. But her hands still shook.

  But Geoffrey was taking no heed.

  He had dropped the match he was about to apply to his cigarette and wasstaring out of the window. The blind had not been drawn; the panes wereframed with flowers.

  And inside that dark circle there came a face, a dark Eastern face, withawful eyes, filled with agony and rage and pain. Across the duskyforehead was a cut from which blood streamed freely.

  "You are not listening to me," Mrs. May cried. "What is the matter?"

  "The face, a face at the window," Geoffrey gasped. "A horrible-lookingman, not of this country at all; a man with a gash in his forehead. Heseemed to be looking for something. When he caught sight of me hedisappeared."

  Mrs. May had risen and crossed to the long French window opening on tothe lawn. Her back was towards Geoffrey and she seemed determined, or sohe imagined, to keep her face concealed from him.

  "Strange," she said, carelessly, though she was obviously disturbed."Surely you were mistaken. Some trick of the brain, a freak ofimagination."

  Geoffrey laughed. Young men at his time of life, men, who follow healthypursuits, are not given to tricks of the imagination. His pulse wasbeating steadily; his skin was moist and cool.

  "I am certain of it," he said. "What is that noise?"

  Something was calling down the garden. Long before this time the goodpeople of the farm had gone to bed.

  "Shall I go and see what it is?" Geoffrey asked.

  "No, no," Mrs. May whispered. "Stay here, I implore you. I would nothave had this happen for anything. What am I saying?"

  She passed her hand cross her face and laughed unsteadily.

  "There are secrets in everybody's life and there are in mine," she said."Stay till I return. There wil
l be no danger for me, I assure you."

  She slipped out into the darkness and was gone. Geoffrey stooped andbent over a dark blot or two that lay on the stone still at the bottomof the window.

  "Blood," he muttered, "blood beyond a doubt. It was no delusion ofmine."

  From outside came the swish of silken drapery. It was Mrs. Mayreturning. She seemed herself again by this time.

  "The danger is past," she said, "if danger you choose to call it. Thenext time we meet we shall laugh together over this comedy. I assure youit is a comedy. And now I am going to ask you to leave me."

  The woman was playing a part and playing it extremely well. With lessinnate knowledge, Geoffrey would have been thoroughly deceived. As itwas, he affected to make light of the matter. He held out his hand witha smile.

  "I am glad of that," he said. "You must let me come again, when,perhaps, you may be disposed to allow me to assist you. Good-night andthank you for one of the pleasantest evenings of my life."

  The door closed behind Geoffrey, and he stumbled along in the darknessuntil his eyes became accustomed to the gloom. Out in the road some onecrept up to him and laid a hand on his arm. Like a flash Geoffrey hadhim by the throat.

  "Speak, or I will kill you," he whispered. "Who are you?"

  "Come with me at once," came the hoarse reply. "And release that grip ofmy throat. I am Sergius Tchigorsky."